


Reveal Thyself

by walkwithursus



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Canon - Book, Developing Friendships, Dress Up, Historical References, No Sex, Nudity, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Soft Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Trust, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vulnerability, Weird Biology, technically canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 11:35:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21391486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkwithursus/pseuds/walkwithursus
Summary: In an effort to further solidify The Arrangement, Crowley reveals his human form to Aziraphale for the first time.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 49
Kudos: 235





	Reveal Thyself

The day was a mild one, cloudy and damp. It was the beginning of Spring, and a gentle breeze stirred a floral sweetness in the air. From his position in the budding perennials beside Aziraphale’s sandaled feet, Crowley flicked a blade of grass from his tail and made an announcement. 

“I want to show you something.”

Aziraphale glanced away from the fruit he had been slicing to fix his eyes on Crowley. The serpent had been agitated throughout the duration of their meeting, restlessly circling the boulder on which Aziraphale sat and darting out his tongue to scent the air every so often. Frankly, he considered this outburst to be long overdue.

“So show me,” Aziraphale said simply, bringing a sliver of plum to his open mouth and placing it on his tongue. 

Crowley gave him a sharp look. “Not here,” he hissed.

_Here_ was the outskirts of the village Aziraphale had been staying in for a number of weeks. Tucked behind a garden wall and shaded by trees, the risk of being spotted speaking to a serpent was slim, but strolling into town with one on his arm was another story entirely. 

“Is it that important?” Aziraphale asked, earning himself an impertinent thwack with the tip of Crowley’s tail.

“Would I have asked you if it wasn’t?”

Aziraphale pondered the question a moment and decided that no, he would not have. “I have a room,” Aziraphale offered slowly, placing his hands on his thighs and preparing to stand, “if it's truly urgent. But you really must keep out of sight this time, Crowley. I can’t stress to you enough how important it is that no one sees you.”

“Yes, yes,” Crowley hissed impatiently, already slithering up the rock and over the breadth of Aziraphale’s shoulder. “No one will spot me. You have my word.”

_“Do not look on the wine when it is red, When it sparkles in the cup, When it goes down smoothly; At the last it bites like a serpent And stings like a viper,”_ Aziraphale quoted perfunctorily, but he stood and headed into the village regardless, leaving the pit of his plum behind in the lush green grass. 

It was a short journey to the inn in which he was staying. As promised, they moved unnoticed as they crossed the square, weaving through the pub-goers and climbing the stairs to the rented room without interruption. Aziraphale closed the door behind them as Crowley unwound from his shoulder and struck the floor with a heavy thunk.

“Lock it,” Crowley ordered as he weaved toward the center of the room. The dusty floorboards were swept clean in the wake of his long body. With a raised eyebrow Aziraphale slid the bolt into place before turning to face the serpent fully, hands on his hips. 

“Now, are you going to tell me what this is all about?” Aziraphale asked, frightfully curious in spite of his better nature. 

Crowley gazed up at him without blinking. “I think it would be best if I just showed you,” he hedged, exuding a nervousness that set the angel slightly on edge. “Close your eyesss.”

After a moment’s hesitation Aziraphale obeyed. The peaceful silence of the room was gradually overtaken by strange sounds, rustling and then thumping accompanied by a low, strangled hiss. The scent of burning sulfur filled his nostrils like the fumes off a tar fire, akin to creosote or something equally as unpleasant. Aziraphale fought the urge to wrinkle his nose, determined to maintain a neutral expression in preparation for whatever it was the demon intended to show him. 

At long last the noises ceased, and Crowley’s slightly strained voice called out to him from across the room.

“Okay, open them.”

Aziraphale did as he was told, and his heart stopped. 

Where moments before the serpent had been now stood a man, tall, thin, and unashamedly naked. Dark hair fell in a blunt cut just below his chin, while wide, burnished gold eyes peered anxiously out from under a heavy brow. The eyes Aziraphale recognized. Though they were now set in an angular human face, they were the familiar eyes of his friend and adversary. Crowley’s eyes. 

“Well?” Crowley’s voice traveled from the man’s throat. 

“I - I don’t know what to say,” Aziraphale admitted, his gaze raking once more in disbelief along the other’s frame. “How long have you been able to…?”

“Not long,” said Crowley. “Though I suppose I’ve been practicing since the Beginning. The whole ‘cursed to crawl on your belly eating dust for all eternity’ thing got old pretty fast. But I wanted to get it just right before - before I showed you.” 

Too stunned to speak, Aziraphale merely nodded, his jaw hanging rudely open as he took in the demon’s new form. The closer he looked, the more Crowley started to look… off. His body looked too flexible, like one long muscle, and there might have been an extra rib in there, reminiscent of man before Eve. Aziraphale wondered if Crowley had stolen his appearance from another, if a particular human had caught his eye and informed his corporation, but the more he looked the more unlikely it seemed. He could detect traces of the demon in this body, in the dark hair and copper skin not unlike the black and red of his scales. And the eyes… Aziraphale continued to look back at them, his only anchor in a sea of change. 

Crowley caught him looking and shielded his gaze self-consciously. “Can’t do anything about these, I’m afraid.” 

Aziraphale frowned. “Why ever would you want to?”

“Well, you know. The whole point is to blend in, isn’t it?” 

“Is it?” Aziraphale asked, having not yet been briefed on the point. 

“Well, yeah. So far The Arrangement’s been what, tacit non-interference?” Crowley said, his tone indicating an intense dissatisfaction. His fists clenched at his sides. “With this body, I wanted to show you that I can do more. _Be_ more.” At that the demon fell abruptly silent, as though he’d said too much. Aziraphale got the distinct impression that, given the chance, Crowley would have liked to unhinge his jaw and stuff those words right back into his mouth. Taking pity on the poor creature, Aziraphale interrupted the awkward pause with a question. 

“So, are you able to manifest clothing?”

“What for?” Crowley asked, scowling slightly. “It’s just the two of us.”

“Yes, well, this isn’t the Garden, is it?” Aziraphale admonished, determinedly keeping his eyes above the harshly jutting vee of Crowley’s hips. “If you’re going to look like a proper human you’ve got to act like one.”

“Who said anything about being proper?” Crowley muttered sullenly.

“You did. Just now, when you said you wanted to blend in.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. The gesture was eerily familiar despite taking place in a strange new face. "Yes, alright, fine. I can manifest it. Just not onto my body.”

“That’ll do,” said Aziraphale, in his most encouraging manner.

With a put-upon sigh Crowley held out his arms, and a pile of dark clothing materialized in them. At the same time a pair of fine leather shoes appeared on the floor beside his feet. For a moment they were both silent, unmoving as Aziraphale waited for Crowley to dress. 

At length Crowley cleared his throat. “Er. I’ve never actually, y’know. _Worn..._”

“Oh!” Aziraphale blinked. “Would you like some assistance?” 

“If you’re offering.” Crowley shrugged. “Might take awhile otherwise. I can’t really move my fingers independently yet.” He flexed them for emphasis, and Aziraphale winced in sympathy. 

“Nothing with buttons, then,” he said, and he took a cautious step forward, bridging the gap of space between their two forms. As he approached Aziraphale felt a bit short of breath, a bit flushed, and realized with a jolt that for the first time in five thousand years he was actually nervous to touch his counterpart. Which was perfectly ridiculous. Crowley had always been incredibly tactile as a snake, unable to rely on human body language to communicate. Thus, Aziraphale had become quite accustomed to their frequent physical contact over the course of history, allowing Crowley the opportunity to rest on his shoulders to see over a crowd of spectators, to scent his skin with a slip of the tongue or to wind briefly around his calf muscle when he required Aziraphale’s attention. 

There was no reason touching his human corporation now should be any different. Except that for some reason it was, and Aziraphale was forced to do his utmost to pretend otherwise. If he behaved as though something were amiss, it would only alert Crowley to the fact that Aziraphale regarded his human corporation differently than he did that of the snake. Which would beg the question _why,_ a trail of introspection Aziraphale was as of yet unprepared to take.

Crowley’s throat convulsed in a swallow as Aziraphale closed the last of the distance between them, a fact which the angel noted but otherwise ignored. Carefully, he reached out a hand to take the pile of clothing from Crowley and set it on a nearby chair. He picked up a linen tunic and shook it out. 

“Let’s see. So, you’ve got the one opening here for the head,” Aziraphale narrated as he went along. “The two on the side for the arms, and - oh dear. You need a fourth opening.”

“What? Where?”

“For the body. The torso.” Aziraphale indicated the bottom of his own shirt, where it fell over his rounded belly. “Right now this is a knapsack.”

“Oh, bless it all,” Crowley muttered, screwing up his face in concentration. “There, what about now? Does that work?”

“Yes, this should do fine,” said Aziraphale, inspecting the newly miracled hole. He turned the garment in his hands until he had configured it appropriately. Then, leaning up on his toes, he began dressing the demon, gently tugging the fabric down around the crown of his head. After a moment of fumbling Crowley’s head poked through the neck-hole of the tunic, slightly ruffled but grinning. Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice that there were a few too many teeth in his mouth. 

“Arms next,” Aziraphale instructed, and he gently placed a hand on Crowley’s elbow to guide it upward. The moment his fingertips made contact the demon uttered a low hiss, and his skin shimmered to scales and back again. Aziraphale drew his hand back sharply. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Crowley licked his lips. “Never let anyone touch me in this corporation before. Feels...” He trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid. 

“Oh, no, it’s not that,” Aziraphale assured him quickly, unbothered by the sudden half-shift. “Truly. I just. Well, I wasn’t expecting your skin to feel so warm.” 

“Too warm?” Crowley asked, eyebrows furrowed self-consciously. 

“Not necessarily,” Aziraphale lied, aware that Crowley was already extremely sensitive about the accuracy of his new body. In truth, Crowley’s human skin was feverishly hot, a stark contrast to the cool, room-temperature scales of the serpent. Still, it only made sense that Crowley would overshoot the temperature of his new corporation. To a cold-blooded reptile, Aziraphale imagined bare human skin would feel quite scorching. 

“Perhaps just a few degrees cooler?” Aziraphale suggested, laying his palm gently on top of Crowley’s spindly hand. “Here. Feel mine? Now, try and match it.”

There was a moment of still silence before Crowley’s long fingers encircled Aziraphale’s wrist, a move that sent a surge of warmth straight to the angel’s core. Aziraphale’s pulse throbbed guiltily, and Crowley’s yellow eyes shot to his face. 

“Have you spent any time in Persia lately?” Crowley asked, seemingly out of the blue. 

Aziraphale shook his head in confusion. “Persia?”

“S’right,” said Crowley. “I’ve met a man there called Ibn Sina. Terribly smart. Ahead of his time. Devout Muslim, coming up with all these new theories for God’s existence. Something about how God can’t _not_ exist. Goes straight over my head. Anyway, he’s got some interesting ideas about this organ here,” Crowley placed his free hand over his bare chest, where his heart would be. 

“Is that right?” 

“Mm,” Crowley hummed. His temperature was dropping rapidly, dark skin cooling under Aziraphale’s soft touch. “Fascinating stuff. According to him, it’s possible to diagnose lovesickness just by feeling the sufferer’s pulse point. When a person is confronted with the object of their affection, the heart is said to _race._” The last word was a hiss on the demon’s breath, fingers tightening around Aziraphale’s wrist in a sluggish squeeze. 

“Sounds like nonsense,” Aziraphale said, though the blush in his cheeks spoke otherwise. More or less satisfied with Crowley's new temperature, he dislodged his wrist from the demon's grip in favor of guiding his arms through the appropriate holes of the forgotten tunic. The material fell around Crowley's torso and hit about mid-thigh, covering his rather bold attempt at replicating human genitalia. A feeling like relief cascaded over Aziraphale once Crowley was covered, and he breathed a chuckling sigh. 

“Breeches next?” 

Crowley nodded, and Aziraphale picked them up off the chair and got them ready. He paused. 

“This would probably work best if you were seated.”

“Oh. Right,” said Crowley, and after a few seconds of fanangling his overlong limbs he managed to seat himself in the now empty chair. Aziraphale knelt before him. From this position, he was able to examine Crowley’s bare feet, long and narrow, with thick, scaly bottoms. Each of his toes appeared to have either too many joints or not enough, and they wiggled independently in a way that no human would have been capable of. Aziraphale said nothing of this as he slowly rolled each leg of the trousers over Crowley’s ankles and up over his thighs. He stopped once he reached the level of Crowley’s groin, hidden for the moment under the tunic.

“Is this alright?” 

“Yesss," said Crowley, his enormous golden eyes fixated on Aziraphale’s face. He licked his lips, and the angel caught sight of a long pink tongue. “Is it alright with you?” 

“Fine,” Aziraphale answered, ducking his head to avoid the strange intimacy of the other’s gaze. “If you’ll just lift your hips for a moment I can slide these the rest of the way up and you’ll be good to go.” 

Crowley nodded and did as he was told, and Aziraphale managed to settle the waist of the breeches just above Crowley’s bony hips without sacrificing his modesty. The shoes were the last item to be added to the ensemble, one over each strange looking foot. 

“There,” Aziraphale said, standing up to admire his work. 

Crowley copied him and spread his arms wide, turning in a small circle. “Well? How do I look?”

Aziraphale cocked his head to one side. With clothes on, the demon’s corporation could almost pass for human, so long as one wasn’t looking too hard. His ears, for example, were more the suggestion of ears than an exact replica, and his eyes… well, there was nothing to be done about that, though knowing Crowley he probably already had an idea in mind for how to get away with them.

“I wouldn’t change a thing,” Aziraphale said truthfully, and Crowley beamed with pride. 

"I wish I could see myself," he admitted, smoothing a hand down the front of his tunic.

"Oh! If you'll hang on just a moment," Aziraphale broke off, dashing away to rummage through his belongings, "I believe I have... tucked away somewhere... ah! Yes, here it is." He returned to stand in front of Crowley, toting a small looking glass held at chest height so that the demon might admire himself. 

“So. What do you intend to do next?" Aziraphale asked. "Now that you have this new body, I mean.”

“Oh, there are a great many things I would like to do with this body,” Crowley said with a grin, cocking one hip to the side. His eyes were focused on Aziraphale rather than his own reflection as he spoke. 

“Well, we’ve got to start somewhere,” Aziraphale replied, deliberately obtuse as evidenced by the pink in his cheeks. For good measure, he flipped the mirror around to its non-reflective surface.

“Well, then, how about indulging this old blind man in his first drink?” Crowley suggested, shutting his yellow eyes and extending his arm for guidance.

"But you aren't - oh! I see!" Delighted by the demon’s ingenuity and more eager than he’d ever admit, Aziraphale abandoned the mirror and tucked Crowley’s hand into the crook of his elbow, his smile unseen. “I’d like that very much,” he said happily, and as he escorted Crowley from the room Aziraphale felt excited by all the possibilities the companionship of another man-shaped being might bring.

**Author's Note:**

> Ibn Sina was a Persian polymath who is regarded as one of the most significant physicians, astronomers, thinkers and writers of the Islamic Golden Age, and the father of modern medicine. Apparently, he was also looking out for people's love lives. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. Kudos and comments greatly appreciated.


End file.
